


Infection

by hummerhouse



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Aliens, Blood and Gore, Complete, Corpses, Experimentation, Gen, Government Experimentation, Horror, Living Corpses, Science Experiments, Unethical Experimentation, Unintended Consequences, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.Word Count: 4,293 TMNT one shotRated: M (for gore)Summary: Agent John Bishop’s stated purpose is to protect humanity from extraterrestrial threats.  His single-minded goal often does more harm than good.~Written as part of the TMNT Spooky Gift Exchange 2020 – gift for gemini-in-tauro
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32
Collections: Tmnt Spooky Gift Exchange 2020





	Infection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gemini_in_tauro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_in_tauro/gifts).



“Stockman, are you certain that this chemical agent you have developed will work?” Agent John Bishop asked.

Doctor Baxter Stockman offered him a withering look and then returned to his computer monitor. “Of course. I am one hundred percent positive that I have found a way to destroy any invading alien species, exactly as you asked.”

Bishop was, as always, unfazed by Stockman’s obvious disdain. “You have, at times, fallen quite short of my expectations, Doctor. This tendency of yours to bypass safety protocols so that you may achieve faster results has proven disastrous in the past.”

Stockman rolled his eyes. “You are a soldier, not a scientist. Often, it is through failure that we learn the most. The test subjects you have provided aren’t going to be missed by anyone, now are they?”

“Nor are they easy to come by,” Bishop replied.

His eyes were on a containment chamber. Inside, a small gray alien paced along the walls, as though searching for a weakness that it could exploit in order to escape.

“Shall I proceed?” Stockman asked. His tone was condescending; he clearly believed that he was better than Bishop and that having to report to the government agent was beneath him.

Bishop didn’t care. He could allow such supercilious behavior from the man because Stockman’s level of genius was hard to come by. As long as Stockman didn’t progress to outright insubordination, he could be tolerated.

“Proceed.”

Stockman’s finger had been poised above a button on the console in front of him and at Bishop’s word, he pressed it. A fine mist sprayed from several small nozzles at the top inside corners of the containment chamber and then drifted downwards.

Though the sound from the nozzles was barely discernible, the alien creature looked up. Its immediate reaction was to get down on the ground and curl up with its arms across its face.

“Interesting reaction,” Stockman said. He was recording the operation and pushed the camera lens in closer to the alien.

“It’s making itself smaller in the hopes that less of its skin will be exposed,” Bishop said. “It is also trying not to inhale whatever chemical is in the mist. The droplets are a bit large, Doctor. I believe it would be more effective if the mist had a longer hang time.”

“That is entirely dependent on the delivery system,” Stockman said. “The nozzles are currently set at fifteen microns, but they are adjustable. We can try a five-micron setting next to better aerosolize the chemical.”

Bishop nodded. “Let’s see how our test subject behaves first. How long does it take for the chemical to cause a reaction?”

“It varies depending on the species infected,” Stockman said. “The grays are small, with no protective layers covering their skin. The reaction should be very quick.”

Almost as soon as he stopped speaking, the gray alien began to twitch. Noticeable movement began first in the feet and legs before traveling upwards. The creature seemed to try to hold itself still, but it wasn’t long before its arms were shaking so hard that they could no longer remain clenched together.

What followed next were violent tremors and then the gray was thrashing uncontrollably on the floor. Neither Bishop nor Stockman were fazed by the creature’s obvious agony, both clearly more interested in the end result than in how it was achieved.

The creature’s movements eventually slowed and then stopped altogether. It lay completely still for several minutes, the only indication that it lived shown by the vital sign monitors on Stockman’s control board.

Then the alien staggered to its feet. It remained bent over, clutching its stomach for another five minutes, before straightening up and once again continuing its pacing.

“Well, Stockman?” Bishop asked, looking expectantly at the scientist.

“We are nearly at the proper stage,” Stockman said. “Previous subjects show a certain characteristic which enables us to know when the chemical has fully altered its DNA.”

“Yes, and it is at that stage that previous subjects have died before achieving the results that I am most interested in,” Bishop said. “If they die before they can infect their fellows, this entire experiment and the money I’ve invested into it has been wasted. This is a catch, infect, and release program, Doctor. It is the only method by which we can deliver this killing agent to our alien enemies.”

“I’m quite aware of what you hope to achieve,” Stockman said, sounding impatient.

“Do not be impertinent,” Bishop warned him. “With you it seems that constant reminders are necessary.”

There was a distinct edge to his tone that gave Stockman pause. The last thing he needed to do was to lose the protections that Bishop offered him. There was quite literally nowhere else that Stockman could go. If he stepped foot outside of the government compound in which he was ensconced, Karai and her Foot clan, or Hun and his Purple Dragons, would put his brain into a blender. His brain was the only part of his original body that remained intact and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Doctor.”

The sound of Bishop’s voice pulled Stockman from his reverie. Inside the chamber, the alien had begun clawing at the walls, its long, thin fingers making squeaking noises as they slid off the unbreakable glass.

“Ahh, perfect,” Stockman said.

Despite how pleased Stockman sounded, Bishop began to frown. “It appears to be exhibiting a level of aggression that I find troubling. This type of behavior would be a warning to its fellows. If I were to see one of my soldiers behaving in that manner, I would quarantine them immediately.”

“Further adjustments will of course have to be made,” Stockman said. “Trial and error, my dear Bishop. As you can see, the subject has not expired. Its vital signs are quite strong, though some are slightly elevated. This is a marked improvement over the previous series of tests.”

“Quite.” Bishop folded his hands together behind his back. “I want to see it interact with one of its fellows. Unless the ingested chemical can be transmitted from creature to creature, it is useless for my purposes.”

“I was about to suggest such a test,” Stockman said. Through his intercom, he relayed instructions to one of his subordinates, and then waited.

In moments, one side of the chamber wall grew darker as something large rolled up next to it. The trapped alien stepped back and then stopped moving entirely, its big eyes fixed on an almost indiscernible panel set in the glass wall.

That panel started to slide open. The alien hands curled into fists as it waited.

At first, nothing happened when the panel stopped moving. Then there was a flash of light, followed by the buzz of electricity. A second sharp bolt of electricity sent another gray alien stumbling into the containment chamber.

The panel immediately slid shut behind it. When the second alien spotted its fellow, it moved forward as if in greeting.

Something caused it to stop and then simply stare at the first alien.

“What is happening, Doctor?” Bishop asked.

“Hmm, interesting,” Stockman said. He was looking at the vital signs monitors, which now displayed both of the life forms. There was a marked difference between the readings.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Bishop said.

“Certain internal organs in our test subject have drastically changed within the last few minutes,” Stockman said. “All of the life forms we have studied have a place to process food within their systems. I will call it a stomach for easier clarification. The signs of starvation are quite similar between every species, including our own. Atrophy sets in, and then the loss of adipose tissue. Our test subject has been fed, but it’s body is exhibiting all of the classic examples of malnourishment.”

“The purpose of the chemical agent we’ve developed is to destroy an alien life form from within,” Bishop said. “You seem to have achieved that goal. However, it is happening much too quickly.”

“Quite,” Stockman said in agreement. “Clearly some modifications will have to be made to . . . .”

Inside the chamber, the infected alien suddenly leaped at its fellow, startling the pair of watchers. The second alien pushed the first away and then began running.

There was no place for it to go. The infected creature was moving with a speed it had never before exhibited. The fingers on its hands were curved into an almost claw like shape, its mouth open to display its teeth.

The second hapless alien cried out when the infected one finally caught it. Gibbering mindlessly, it drove its victim to the floor and began tearing and biting at its skin.

Through the speakers, Bishop and Stockman could hear the flayed skin flap wetly as it was ripped from the second alien’s body. The infected one grunted as it stuffed its mouth, slurping at the blood that dripped from its fingers.

Bishop showed no emotion as he turned to stare at Stockman. “This is not the outcome I had anticipated, Doctor.”

“I . . . it’s not . . . .” Stockman stopped speaking for a second and then tried again. “The chemical agent is supposed to behave like a virus, moving through the system and attacking vital organs. As it works, the subject grows weaker, unable to take in nourishment. Through skin contact with others of its kind, it passes along the virus.”

“I know all of this,” Bishop said. “I designed the project. It is supposed to be undetectable so that it can do the greatest amount of harm to our enemies.” He waved a hand towards the chamber. “Does that seem undetectable to you, Stockman?”

Stockman glanced into the chamber. The infected creature’s face was buried inside the other alien’s gut as it loudly gulped down its internal organs.

Without a word, Bishop reached out and pressed a button on the control console. A laser canon descended from the ceiling, swiveled to target the living alien, and then fired.

The alien jerked upright as the laser beam hit it. Blood splattered from it hands as its body shook with the impact, and then it slumped over, falling across the remains of its prey. The sound of sizzling flesh could be heard through the monitors before Stockman quickly switched off the volume.

“I will begin an autopsy right away,” Stockman said. “I’m certain it will tell me why the virus moved so quickly. With that information, I can modify the chemical agent. The fact that this creature did not die immediately proves that I am on the right track.”

“I expect more promising results the next time we meet,” Bishop said, pivoting on his heels and starting to walk away. He stopped when a thought struck him. Turning, he asked, “How exactly are you disposing of your failed experiments, Doctor?”

Stockman was staring at a monitor which was displaying data and didn’t bother to look back. “I have them incinerated, of course. The waste is a biohazard. Once I have completed my analysis of the test subjects, they are taken away and burned.”

“You have ensured that every possible safety protocol is being adhered to?” Bishop asked.

“I am not an idiot,” Stockman retorted, his patience once more wearing thin.

Bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Have you modified the ventilation and air filtration systems within the crematorium to ensure that no particles are released into the atmosphere?”

For a long moment, Stockman didn’t move, standing frozen as he faced his monitors. It was impossible to read his body language due to his robotic form, but the fact that he didn’t offer a response was as good a reaction as any.

Striding back to Stockman’s side, Bishop stared at the man. The force of his gaze brought the scientist’s attention back to him.

“Do we have a problem?” Bishop asked.

“Ah, uh, um, I’m sure it’s nothing. The containment is more than adequate.”

“I didn’t ask for adequate, I asked for foolproof,” Bishop said, growing angry. “The crematorium is supposed to be completely self-contained and negatively pressured so that air flows in, never out. Are you telling me that there is a possibility that contaminants might have been released into the air outside of this facility?”

Stockman looked flustered, and then sly. “It was on _your_ orders that I accelerated my experiments. Bodies were beginning to stack up.”

“This is unacceptable, Doctor.” Bishop’s jaw clenched. He looked into the chamber at the two dead aliens. The limbs of the infected creature had begun to spasm back to life. “How many extraterrestrial life forms did you incinerate and when was it done?”

“I held as many as I could in cold storage, but when the space became limited . . . .”

“How many and when?” Bishop repeated.

“Yesterday,” Stockman answered. “I gave my orderlies instructions for the remains of seven aliens to be incinerated yesterday.”

“I want the crematorium and the autopsy rooms shut down immediately.” Bishop’s tone was crisp. “Both rooms are to be fully contained, and that includes the ventilation shafts.”

Before Stockman could press a button to call for an orderly, one of Bishop’s soldiers ran into the room. The man was a seasoned fighter, but he looked frightened.

“Sir, the news, have you seen the news?” the soldier asked.

“I have not. Show me,” Bishop ordered.

The soldier moved to one of the consoles and pressed a button. A large display screen flickered to life with an image of a news reporter seated before cameras at a local TV station.

“ _Reports are coming in of large groups of people assaulting and killing citizens on the streets. The Mayor has issued a command for the city to be locked down and has called for assistance from the National Guard. All New York City inhabitants and visitors are being told to shelter in place, lock your doors, and not go out into the open. Please listen to the emergency broadcast system for further instructions_.”

As the reporter spoke, a screen behind him showed masses of people chasing down and attacking anyone hapless enough to draw their attention. All of them were covered in blood and gore, many with pieces of human bodies stuck to them.

Furious, Bishop spun on Stockman. “What have you done, Doctor?”

“I couldn’t have anticipated this would happen,” Stockman replied.

Bishop pointed at the newscast. “This situation must be resolved quickly, before it blows back on me. Tell me that you created an antidote for this chemical agent.”

Once again Stockman began to hem and haw. “I, uh, was mostly concerned with, um, formulating the chemical that you requested.”

Annoyance was clearly written on Bishop’s countenance as he barked at the soldier, “Shut down the crematorium immediately. Seal it and the autopsy room; no one goes into either of them. No one is to handle any of the specimens.”

“Sir.” The soldier saluted and swiftly left the room.

Returning his attention to Stockman, Bishop said, “Gather your lab technicians, Doctor. We are going to work on an antidote. No one sleeps until we have a cure for this _virus_ that you assured me would not affect humans.”

Inside the containment chamber, the badly burned corpse of the infected alien had reanimated. It returned to mindlessly eating its companion. Lips curled back in disgust, Bishop once again manipulated the weapon controls, this time firing two laser canons at the gray.

The creature was still chewing when the lasers burned holes into its body. Smoke curled up from its skin and then it burst into flames. The resultant fire spread to the other alien and soon both of the grays were a smoldering pile of body parts.

“Do not enter that chamber until the smoke has cleared,” Bishop said. “Make sure anyone you send in is wearing a hazmat suit. I assume you will need those remains in order to formulate an antidote?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I will take every possible . . . .”

Shouting from outside of the laboratory interrupted Stockman. That noise was followed by sounds of gunfire and the crashing of glass. Bishop strode towards the entrance, but he was only halfway there when two of his soldiers ran into the room and secured the door behind them.

“What is going on?” Bishop demanded.

The soldiers turned. They carried the stink of blood on their uniforms, splatters of it on their pants and shoes. Traces of human tissue clung to them as well, and both were wide eyed and hysterical.

“We . . . they . . . .” one of them stammered.

“Report, Soldier!” Bishop barked.

That brought them out of their panic and they snapped to attention. “Smith reporting, sir! The compound has been overrun, sir. The outer sentries were attacked and fled indoors to follow the lockdown protocols. Everything seemed secure, but then the sentries suddenly began assaulting the guards. Johnson and I fought off some of our own personnel so that we could get in here and warn you.”

“We should leave,” Stockman said, clearly frightened. “My technicians can load everything I’ll need onto the helicopter. Surely there is a facility somewhere far from the city where I can continue my work.”

“For once, Doctor, you may have a good idea,” Bishop said. “It would be prudent at this juncture to take what we can and transfer to a more secure location.”

He had turned his back to the soldiers and while he was speaking, the one called Johnson had begun to twitch. Bishop was just starting to walk towards Stockman when Johnson abruptly jumped on his partner and tore out his throat with his teeth.

When Smith cried out, Bishop spun around, his hand automatically going for the gun in his shoulder holster. He pulled the gun and fired in one smooth motion, striking Johnson in the center of his forehead.

Johnson fell back and was completely still. Bishop watched him for a full minute and then said, “Get your technicians moving, Doctor. We haven’t much time.”

He shoved his jacket aside in order to holster his gun and that’s when the Smith popped up from the floor and sprang. The force of the impact knocked Bishop onto his back and he dropped his gun. Bishop managed to get his forearm up under Smith’s chin, but he couldn’t find the leverage to push the man off of him. The soldier bit and clawed at him while Bishop tried to reach his gun.

The tips of Bishop’s fingers had just found the butt of his gun when a sudden flash of steel swept through the air above him to cleave Smith’s head in two.

Grimacing in disgust as the slain soldier slumped against his arm, Bishop shoved the body away from him and sat up.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bishop said, rising to his feet. “I appreciate the . . . .”

When he turned, it was not Stockman he saw, but the mutant turtle known as Leonardo.

Blood dripped from his twin katana. His green skin was covered in it, as were his brothers’, who stood several paces behind him.

“You’re welcome,” Leonardo said, sheathing his weapons.

“How did you get in here?” Bishop asked.

“Through the roof,” Donatello answered. “The door up there isn’t as secure as it should be.”

“Ya’ can forget the helicopter if you’re thinking about making a run for it,” Raphael said. “Don here . . . what was that word ya’ used, bro’? Oh yeah, incapacitated. He incapacitated it.”

“Why would you do that?” Stockman whined. He remained at the room’s control panel, clearly too afraid to move.

“Because you guys made this mess and you have to stay here to help clean it up,” Michelangelo said.

“Why would you make such an assumption?” Bishop asked.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the epicenter of the infection was this building,” Donatello replied. “I made myself aware of which buildings you operate from a long time ago.”

Bishop straightened his tie and then bent to pick up his glasses. He looked for his gun but didn’t see it. A thought struck him. “Actually, I am glad you are here.” He looked at Donatello. “Dr. Stockman is going to require assistance in developing a cure and I can think of no finer mind than yours.”

“Assistance?” Stockman’s voice had gone up an octave. “I need no assistance from this _turtle_.”

“Clearly you do, Doctor. If I recall correctly, it was Donatello’s work that allowed you to find a cure for the outbreak virus. Donatello’s and Mr. Leatherhead’s work, I should say.” Addressing Donatello, Bishop asked, “I don’t suppose your crocodilian friend is available?”

“We wouldn’t dream of asking him to have anything to do with you,” Leonardo answered for his brother. “You’ll have to settle for us. And for the record, Stockman will be assisting Donatello, not the other way around.”

“What? I will not take orders from this animal!” Stockman exclaimed.

“You most assuredly will,” Bishop countered. “It is because of your incompetence that we are faced with yet another disaster.” To Leonardo, he said, “This room and the research laboratory are sealed off from the remainder of the facility. My soldiers secured the primary exit before turning rabid. The only other exit is via the roof.”

“It’s sealed too,” Leonardo said. “We made certain of that. Donatello changed the code as well, so don’t get any ideas about ditching us.”

“Of course not. You are, after all, now working for me.” He signaled to Stockman. “Please lead the way to the research lab, Doctor. There is much work to do.”

As the six of them marched towards the space that served as Stockman’s primary research area, Bishop kept a wary eye on the turtles. Though covered in blood, some of it no doubt from infected individuals, they did not show any signs of having contracted the virus themselves.

“The blood that is on you and your brothers, did some of it come from infected individuals?” Bishop asked.

His question was aimed at Leonardo, who walked next to him. “Most, but not all of it. Some of this blood belongs to the soldiers you had stationed on the rooftop. They didn’t want to let us in.”

“We had to fight our way here,” Raphael said. “The streets ain’t a pretty sight.”

Bishop continued to address Leonardo exclusively. “Blood transmission has proven to be quite rapid. How are you feeling?”

“We’re fine,” Leonardo answered.

“I saw what was left of your experiment on the captured aliens,” Donatello said. “You need to remember that we’re not aliens and we’re not human either.”

“With every experiment one expects certain adverse reactions,” Bishop said as they entered the research laboratory. “This was not something that could have been anticipated.”

“That’s what you get for working with Stockman,” Michelangelo said. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“It is bad enough that I have to work with these animals, I will not have them questioning my genius,” Stockman announced in his most supercilious tone.

“Ya’ know, I’ll bet Donny can find an antidote without Stockman’s input,” Raph said, twirling one of his sai menacingly.

“Enough!” Bishop spoke sharply, drawing the attention of the various technicians scattered throughout the room. They looked frightened and the sound from a small television was a good indication that they’d heard the news.

Raising his voice to ensure that he was heard, Bishop continued. “No one leaves here until we have developed a cure for this virus. You will take your instructions from the turtle called Donatello. There will be no breaks. For every fourteen hours of work, you may stop to eat something and sleep for three hours. Nothing else exists but the search for an antidote. Is that clear?”

The responses weren’t enthusiastic, but they were uniform in their acknowledgements.

“Some of these people aren’t technicians,” Stockman said. “They are clerks or orderlies.”

“I’m sure we can find something useful for them to . . . .” Bishop began.

“AHHH! Ughhhh . . . .”

The nearby scream ended in a choked, gurgling sound. Several technicians reacted with screams as well, and Stockman gasped.

Spinning around, Bishop saw that Raphael and Michelangelo had fallen upon one of the clerks, shredding his clothing in order to carve out chunks from his body. Michelangelo sliced off a large piece of the man’s thigh and tossed it to Donatello, who caught it and took a big bite.

Bishop watched in horror, and then looked to Leonardo. The turtle leader walked over to his brothers and accepted one of Raph’s sai, which had the clerk’s left forearm and hand stuck to it.

“You should probably get to work,” Leonardo said, his eyes shining with a strange light.

“But . . . but you told me . . . .” Bishop stopped, unsure of what to say.

“I said we were fine,” Leonardo replied, biting a finger off the hand. He chewed, the bones crunching between his teeth. After he swallowed, he added, “I never said we weren’t affected.”

Michelangelo smacked his lips and looked up. “We’re hungry.”

“We would never in a million years eat each other,” Donatello said.

Raph grinned, the gristle stuck between his teeth making his smile grisly. “That means you people better get to work.”

Addressing Bishop, Leonardo said, “I’m not even sure you’d be edible, but we’re more than willing to find out.”

An icy chill ran down Bishop’s spine, a feeling he hadn’t had in over two hundred years. Nearby, Stockman whimpered but was otherwise unusually silent.

Not that Bishop could have heard much else over the gulping, chewing sounds the turtles were making.

**Author's Note:**

> My giftee asked for 'Perhaps some gore? Zombies are always welcome, too.' Hopefully this fits the bill.


End file.
